


Perfect Disasters

by GhostHost



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, First Meetings, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Abuse, Religious Sex, Twincest, full list in fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 14:56:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8921473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostHost/pseuds/GhostHost
Summary: The concept of evil twins is ancient and mythical. It's followed Sunstreaker around since his creation, and it's the reason he assumes he and Sideswipe won't be getting the spot in the Prime's own guard. Well, that and he punched the medical examiner in the face.
 Thankfully, Ironhide's there to bail him out, Ratchet's there to prove the naysayers wrong and Optimus-well, no one can deny the very vessel of Primus when he demands to prove you worthy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning the fun chapters the next. I prefer using stupidly obscure TF’s rather than OC’s because I think it’s fun, so Kaput is from IDW and Lifeline is from G1, though I took great liberties with her looks (she was a repainted Generations Arcee). Hot Shot isn’t really obscure, he’s a main from Armada, but I guess it’s been long enough since the entire Unicron tril ended that he could be considered kinda obscure now? And Dogfight is one of the few Autobot seekers, he was in G1 and IDW. (‘Course preferences are just that, so Inversion was a name I pulled out of my ass because I got tired of writing “Head medic” over and over. Bastard wasn’t supposed to show up as much as he did.) 
> 
> Plus some of the canon names are dumb. Medibot? Medix? Strong Panda? The fuck. 
> 
> Warnings as always are given per chapter. This one has; Mentioned twincest, abuse(mental/physical/emotional), medical abuse, abuse of power, thoughts of suicide, emotional manipulation, electrocution, torture device, the myth of one twin being evil, general violence, and I’m pretty sure that’s it. The actual fun stuff’s in the next chapter.

Days when

We'd fight, we'd fight 'til I would give in

Yeah

Perfect disasters

\--OneRepublic, Kids 

 

* * *

  
  


_ “Glitch.” Spat a mech who was supposed to protect him. “Waste of space. You should deactivate and save us all the time.” _

_ “Somewhere in there you have to care about your brother.” A teacher said years later, in an attempt to “get through” to him. “Why don’t you think of what’s best for him?”  _

_ “Sideswipe is great-but,” A mech he called a friend trailed off, fishing for words, not realizing the very mechs he was speaking about were coming around the corner.  _

_ ‘His brother is a fragging menace.” Another friend finished, with a weary sigh. “Not ‘Side’s fault though. You know what they say about twins.” _

_ “Twins huh?” The Autobot recruiter joked, looking over their applications. “So which one of you is the evil one?” He made it sound innocent, but it wasn’t long after their acceptance that the rumors began.  _

_ Violent. _

_ Aggressive. _

_ Anti-social. _

Evil. 

Sideswipe looked over at Sunstreaker in concern, feeling the wave of fury even through the blockers sitting in their bond. “Bro?” He questioned, trying to get a read on what was wrong. 

The golden twin didn’t answer, shrugging off Sideswipe’s hands when he tried to lay one on his shoulder. “Forget it.” He growled. “Focus on what we’re doing.”

Sideswipe whined dramatically in response. “Come on, we’re lot even there yet!” The red twin  looked for all the world like he’d dropped the subject, been properly redirected, but Sunstreaker knew better.  HIs twins concerned nudged at him, worry seeping through until Sunstreaker lifted the blockers a touch and nudged him back. 

He was okay. It was just the usual slag. 

Nothing he couldn’t handle. 

Sideswipe eyed him out of the corner of his optics, but thankfully truly dropped it.  Not that he wouldn’t bring it up later-but he wouldn’t pester now. Sunstreaker was all about the now. Unfortunately and unfairly, his twin thought equally about  _ both. _

“What kinda questions do you think they’re gonna ask us?” Sideswipe continued to pester, because he was incapable of being quiet for longer than three seconds at a time.  “I mean, I’ve interviewed for a position before, and we’ve always interviewed together but I feel like it’s a little...” He trailed off, tilting his head in thought. “...weird this time. Don’t you think?” 

Sunstreaker just grunted at him. His brother didn’t need a real response. Probably wasn’t expecting one. He’d just keep talking and sure enough, that’s exactly what he did.  

“It’s just-this is for a spot on the  _ Prime’s _ team, you know? I’d think they’d do separate interviews for that.  I know they’re swearing up and down that’s not what this positions for, but Hot Shot got Dogfight drunk and Dogfight  _ swore _ he overheard-”

So it went, the entire way to the office their interview was to be held in. Sunstreaker didn’t listen, not needing too. Sideswipe had already told him all this the night prior, and it was only their shared nerves that prevented him from snapping at ‘Sides for repeating himself. 

Of course, it was only their nerves that had caused Sideswipe to repeat it. Regardless of whether or not the position was for a spot fighting alongside the leader of the Autobots, it was a significantly higher spot than any rank they’d held prior. Higher pay grade too. Frontliners like them didn’t often get chances like this-and they were competing with hundreds of others holding the same titles and positions as they did. 

That their applications had progressed to the point of an interview was a miracle in and of itself-or a reflection of their fearsome reputation. Maybe both. (Definitely, Sunstreaker thought, with a bit of vanity, both.) 

So Sideswipe talked and Sunstreaker let him. He didn’t even put up his usual, token protests when they passed by others.Nerves were a foreign thing to them, used to not knowing if they’d make it back to base alive, and the ability to talk-and listen-showed they were safe in a way few other things could.. It signified they were both alive, functioning, and walking under their own power. It showed they were out of the quietness of danger, among comrades and out of the enemy's sight. It let their bodies relax and their minds unwind. 

No one ever really commented, nevermind Sunstreaker’s protests. They all had their rituals. 

It wasn’t long before they had wound their way to their Commanders office. They had a designated appointment time and still ended up having to wait, the recruiter inside apparently taking a while with the prior application-a great and utter curse to both twins if only because Sideswipe could not stand waiting. 

He was in the middle of bemoaning their apparent, brushed aside fate, in fact,  when Hot Shot popped out the door, nearly smacking the both of them with it. He was tense and only grew tenser after spotting Sunstreaker, but relaxed when he spotted Sideswipe shortly after. 

“Good luck in there.” He said as he walked past, ignoring the golden twins glare. “You’ll need it!”

“Thanks!” Sideswipe called back, returning the offered smile with one of his own. “Come on bro!” He grabbed Sunstreaker’s hand, nearly pulling him inside. . 

_ ::Lose the frown!:  _ He added over coms, when the golden twin jerked his hand back. : _ Or at least look neutral and not like you’re about to kill somebody!: _

_ :I look better than you.:  _ Sunstreaker growled back-but did his best to look calm when Sideswipe wasn’t looking.

The point of the game was to pretend to be normal long enough to pass. He could be as pissy as he wanted,  _ after  _ they had landed the new assignments. If that meant forcing his faceplates into something unnatural for him for a few minutes, well.

He’d certainly done worse things. It wasn’t like smiling was going to kill him. Might do in a few others out of shock-but not him. 

He could manage one easily. 

xXx

 

He couldn’t smile. 

_ ::You look crazy, knock it _ off. _ :: _ ‘Sides had snapped, the second he caught a glimpse of Sunstreaker’s face. 

He’d gotten a waspish retort, but Sunstreaker gave it up then and there and just aimed for “well-adjusted.” 

It hadn’t helped. 

Now he was seated next to his brother, in what had to be the world's most uncomfortable chair, and watched as their interview went to the pits. 

It wasn’t that it was going poorly-the opposite in fact. It was going   _ great. _ They just hadn’t gotten to the part of their files that freaked everyone out. 

Sunstreaker saw it the second the recruiter (at least, Sunstreaker thought he was the recruiter, there was a second mech here, a medic. They had explained why but he hadn’t cared, and in doing so, hadn’t listened.) read it. 

“You’re split-spark twins?”  He asked, proving Sunstreaker right a moment later. A ripple of hesitation ran through his field, too fast for most to sense it, but not slow enough for either twin to miss. “Not just brothers?” 

“Yes sir. We like to think it gives us a little _ edge  _ as battle partners.” Sideswipe was upping the charm, trying to get the recruiter over his obvious discomfort. He had a lifetime's worth of practice of fighting that particular battle, and Sunstreaker left him to it, opting to stay silent. Had been silent, for the most part.

He tended to ruin things when he opened his mouth.

“An edge.” The other mech-the medic, echoed. His disbelief was more obvious, as was his discomfort. Sideswipe targeted him immediately.

“Well sure. No ‘Con’s can ever match our communication skills, after all. Take a look at our references-we’re  _ Decepticon verified _ pain-in-the-afts!” 

The recruiter’s optical plating crinkled at that-the tension easing ever so slightly but the tone of the interview had permanently changed. 

Sideswipe never recovered it. 

They finished it out the best they could, with Sunstreaker saying nothing unless asked and Sideswipe saying all the rest. Their interviewers were polite-polite enough not to kick them out then and there, to give them the illusion of still being considered for the position-but Sunstreaker knew a lost cause when he saw one. 

“Thank you for coming in.” Their recruiter said, signalling the end of the interview. 

“Thanks for havin’ us!” Sideswipe chirped. He said a few other things-all jokes-as he stood up and shook both mechs hands. 

Sunstreaker didn’t bother. He kept to his guns and said nothing, offered nothing, having already stood and well on his way out the door.

There was no point in staying. He knew how quickly mechs made up their minds. How slow they were to change it. 

“Sorry ‘bout my brother, but you know how some mechs are.” He heard Sideswipe say and he cut his half of the bond before his twin could feel the slash of hurt.  Sideswipe hadn’t meant it-at least, not like Sunstreaker heard it. he knew. Was only trying to further the both of them, as he always was. He’d said something similar a million times before-a million apologies for Sunstreaker and his behavior. This time wasn’t any different.

He didn’t need to be burdened with Sunstreaker’s ire just because the golden twin was being touchy today. 

_ “I’m tryin’ here, but Sunny’s not, Sideswipe. One day you’re gonna have to stop apologizing for every stupid thing he does and just let him  _ ruin _ things. See where that gets him.”  _ An ex-lover of theirs had snapped, their final parting shot. His  words circled Sunstreaker’s processor just  like all the others, ever present reminders of his failings. 

He hated every word thrown at him, every glare and whisper.  He hbated the words thrown at him and behind him, the rumors that followed. 

But most of all? He hated that they were right.     
  
  


xXx

 

“The pit’s wrong with these two?” Ironhide waved the datapad in the face of the head recruiter (a mech whose name he could never remember.) “They’re perfect for the job.”

“We felt the mechs we chose were a better fit for the position.” Answered said recruiter-a mech chosen for the job by someone that absolutely wasn’t the Prime’s old guard.  

Ironhide looked at him like he had lost his processor. 

“These mech’s? These two right here?” He waved the other datapad, held in his opposite hand, stare burning holes in the recruiter’s head. “Did we read the same applications?” 

“There were medical issues with the first pair.” The other mech (A medic? Yes, yes Prowl had insisted on having a medic present at the interviews, Primus knew why.) said. The recruiter cast a thankful glance at him that Ironhide pretended he didn’t see. “The second pair was thus picked over them despite not being as good a fit.”

“What kind of issues?” Ironhide growled. “The medical report’s right in here an’ I’m not seein’ slag.” Not that he understood half of it, but he knew enough to see the bots in question where healthy, fit, and ready to kill ‘Cons. That was about all Ironhide required.

Nevermind that he’d  _ personally _ seen these two fight. They were impressive in a way that struck his very spark. Internally, he’d already decided on the pair to fill out the last spots in his team. The interviews had been a forced formality, and he was greatly displeased that things weren’t going like how wanted.

“Physically they are fine, it’s their mental and emotional states that were concerning.” The medic was holding his ground, voice firm. “The other pair scored much higher in those categories.” 

“They’re frontliners, ‘course they’re not mentally sound.” Ironhide spat the last two words as though they were filled with poison. The mechs regularly lead the charge against ‘cons four times their size and far less morals. Everyone in the position was crazy. It was practically a requirement. 

Crazy killed better, after all. 

“This is beyond the normal parameters, Sir.” The recruiter said, trying to back his medic-and his choice, up. “With all due respect, considering the mechs will be serving the Prime himself as well as the Autobot command team, we placed more value on mental health than normal.” 

“‘Course you did.” Ironhide rolled his optics, growing increasingly less formal the angrier he got. Idiots. The Prime didn’t need somebody who could pass a fraggin’ psychiatric exam. He needed someone who would keep him  _ alive _ .

Not that the chosen pair couldn’t do that-but the other mechs, these twins? 

_ They  _ were the one’s Ironhide wanted.

This was what he got for listening to Prowl, the fragger. 

“Here’s the deal.” He said, after a moment of struggling to keep his temper. “I’ll have the Prime’s medic check out these twins. They get a failing grade from him, I’ll accept the other ones, no problem. They pass, I’m takin’ em.” 

Taken aback, both the recruiter and his medic blinked. “Ah-” One started to protest, but Ironhide cut him off before he could start. 

“Ratchet will be here tomorrow morning.” He continued, already composing a text to Ratch. ( _ ‘Hey, remember how you broke my Functionalist Era Distilled Energon? Because I do…’ _ ) “You bring all four mechs and we’ll go from there. Dismissed.” He was walking away before they could counter him, making it clear this conversation was over. It was an abrupt-if rude-parting and he didn’t care at all. 

He was going to get his twins, dammit. Even if he had to bribe Ratchet with all his high grade to do it. 

The recruiter and medic watched him go, before sharing despairing looks with one another. 

“It’s okay. Ratchet will come to the same conclusion we did.” The medic said after a moment, when it was clear the head of Prime’s Guard was out of hearing range. “Ten minutes with Sunstreaker is all it will take.”

“For the sake of the Prime and his mission,” The recruiter said, voice low. “I hope so.” 

xXx

  
  


One day later and they were back in the med center. 

“Didn’t we just do this?” Sideswipe groaned. Sunstreaker elbowed him in the side, the both of them following a short nurse down the halls. Thankfully one who ignored their antics. 

“Separate examination rooms, please.” He said finally, spinning to a stop and  pointing towards opposing doors. 

That caused both twins to pause, but after a brief, shared look, they obeyed. 

It was rare to separate them, but it wasn’t like it didn’t happen. Protocol was protocol after all, no matter how much leeway people gave them for the whole split-spark thing. 

Sideswipe was pretty sure it wasn’t even leeway anyway, but a chance for medics to get a glimpse at them together. Split-sparks were rare, and being able to say you worked on a pair raised up a medic's status-and general bragging rights. 

Their check up exams usually ended up being fought over, in fact. 

It worked for them. Medics made them uneasy, had always made them uneasy-they’d been unnecessarily poked and prodded at since their creation. Sunstreaker had more of an aversion than his twin, tolerating the entire process far less. 

There was something else there beyond Sideswipe’s own aversion, something Sunstreaker refused to share with his twin. Sideswipe didn’t get all of it, but he got enough. 

Medics took advantage, and Sunstreaker...well…

Sideswipe didn’t like leaving him alone with them. Or anyone, really. 

They’d already protested enough about even coming in again. Neither twin wanted to push their luck with their current command staff, not after being told point blank they would have to be given a second physical to advance to the next stage of the interview process. 

Of course, rumor had it that the CMO himself was giving this exam which of course meant-

_ “Fragging told you this was for a spot on Prime’s team!” Sideswipe had crowed, dancing around the barracks after ending the call with the recruiter.  _

_ “You don’t know that.” Sunstreaker said, arms crossed over his chest.  _

_ “It totally is. AND we’re advancing to the next round! We scored baby! S-C-” _

_ Sunstreaker shook his head, but couldn’t bring himself to burst Sideswip’s bubble, even after his twin spelled out several words beyond “scored.”  _

He still didn’t. Even now, Sideswipe’s cheer wasn’t enough to sweep through Sunstreaker’s unease, and it only kicked up as he was seated in the second examination room. He tried to let go of it, focusing instead on keeping calm through the bond, using his twin’s emotions as a rock to steady himself. 

He was not expecting it to take as long as it did. 

A nurse checked in on him. Then again. Then a third time, before finally, the clinic’s main medic-the same one who interviewed him-came through the door. His field was annoyed to the touch, his movements the jerky kind the betrayed the underlying anger. 

“The CMO is running late. I’ll be taking your initial vitals for him.” The medic explained. He started right away, leaving no time for complaints-or protests. 

Sunstreaker grit his denta when the medic started by treated his plating a little rough, and growled outright when he jammed the needle a little too hard in his energon lines. He held back though, kept himself seated and on the table. Didn’t even snark. Not about the medics poor paintjob, terrible bedside manners or clearly dirty hands-nope. Not a peep from him other than a handful of growls.

He thought he’d done good though-good for him, considering he’d attacked mechs for less.

“Don’t give me that.” The medic snapped, the third time Sunstreaker’s engine got away from him. He drew the required energon from his lines-Suntreaker’s third tube of it-, ignoring the rage that bloomed across the golden mech’s face. 

Sunstreaker vented hard, vision briefly going red. Sideswipe saved him, as he had been, prodding and sending calm reminders. Cutting through the fury. Sunstreaker vented again, deeper this time, and forced himself to remain still. He was a frontliner. He could take a little rough treatment. Sideswipe was desperate for this position, and he wouldn’t ruin it because some mech had woken up on the wrong side of the recharge slab that morning. 

He just had to hold out ‘till they got the job. Then he could beat the armor right off the aft. He took another vent, as the medic capped plugged the line. 

He could do this. 

“Open your chest.” The medic said, bustling away to send off the last sample Sunstreaker jerked his head, taken aback when the words finally processed through the suppressed cloud of rage  filling his head.

“What?” He said, sure he misunderstood. 

The medic looked exasperated as he turned around, tapping a pede against the floor in agitation. “I need to check your spark and chamber.” He spoke slow, as though Sunstreaker were stupid. “You need to open your chest chambers for me to do that.” The words were grit out, said in the same tone one would use to scold a bad bitlit. 

Sunstreaker’s plating ruffled. Sparkchecks weren’t standard procedure. He would know, having done enough “standard procedures” to clear five separate mechs for as many different armies. Sparks were checked only by those medics much higher than this one, and checked only a certain number of years or when damage was suspected. Not for something like this. 

Never for something like this.

“What for?” Sunstreaker demanded. Enough people had checked his spark in his lifetime-his file was overflowing with information on it. There was no reason to check it again, no reason at all to show it. A spark was a private thing, even with medics and Sunstreaker had grown over-protective of his, considering how many people he’d encountered who expressed interest in snuffing it. 

Like ‘Cons, most superstitious mechs and  his brothers friends. 

“You know perfectly well what for.  _ Open. _ ” There was a growl in the medic’s voice.  A command. He stepped closer to the table, standing tall in a clear threat. Sunstreaker’s engine kicked to life at the very sight, snarling a warning deeper than it had all day., 

“No I don’t.” The frontliner said, voice low. “Explain it to me.” 

He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like the answer. 

The medic’s field was pulled back, beyond the point of politeness but Sunstreaker knew it would be as flat and cold as his optics if he touched it. He didn’t need to do this song and dance. He knew what this medic wanted to see his spark for. But he also wanted him to  _ say  _ it. Wanted the words to come from someone’s mouth instead of the usual rain of excuses that fell. 

“ _ We need to check your spark’s frequencies.”   _

_ “We need to compare it to your brothers.”  _

_ “We just need to make sure it’s healthy.” _

Lies. Fragging lies. They didn’t care if his spark was healthy. They wanted to see the opposite. They wanted to see it strain.  They expected some sort of malformed thing, limp thing. Small and vile. Pit, there were mechs who thought his spark would burn _purple_ , or black, or some other dark color, as though that would prove his very core poisoned. Medics had long since tested him, beyond his limits, to try and push his spark to “show itself.” Reveal it’s truth. It never had, despite their attempts-just as it they could never break the bond, not matter how much he protested. 

They’d only stopped when Sideswipe felt it-only when the red twin protested.

No. He wouldn’t do this again. Not even for a spot next to the Prime. 

“Well? I’m waiting.” Sunstreaker snarled. There was no point in being polite now. He and Sideswipe were already disqualified for the position.  This “exam” was a waste of time- a mere formality. Done to prove they weren’t capable of doing the job because Sunstreaker couldn’t be trusted. 

Knowing that, however was a lot different than hearing it. He’d pushed medics before. Many had gotten close, but the admissions had never come-not  from them. No, Sunstreaker had only heard the truth from those he considered close to him-from those who thought they had the right to say it. 

To hear it from a mech who headed one of the largest Autobot clinics was something of a shock, even if he’d demanded it. 

“So I can see,” Spit out the medic, “how much of a strain your cursed, fake spark has on your brother. Now open!” The  medic’s optics flashed, a hand slamming down on the table next to him and Sunstreaker _ immediately  _ lost it. 

He didn’t remember getting off the table-and he didn’t recall punching the guy in the face either. He did both though, and got a savage amount of glee for it.

He’d been waiting  _ years _ for someone he could hit to say it. For some kind of excuse to snap.

Now, he had it.    
  
  


xXx

 

“There, all done!” The perky nurse informed Sideswipe as she finished drawing energon. She was a cute thing, all round curves with the most adorable, chubby tires. Sideswipe had the worst urge to pinch them. 

He kept himself in check though, offering a roughish smile. “Do I get a kiss, for being so brave?” He teased, playfully. Leaning into her touch. 

The nurse giggled, gently removing the needle from his mainline. “No, but I can get you an energon goodie if you’d like.” 

“Well I’ll take what I can get.”  He followed her as she bustled about the room, field loose and easy. Sunny tried to hide it, he did, but Sideswipe knew his brother thought they’d already been rejected for the position. Nothing he could do could convince his twin otherwise-but Sideswipe knew they were going to get this. Get the job. Help guard the Prime.  He just had to  get his poor, pessimistic brother to jump through all the hoops. To be fair to him there were a lot, but it was the Prime’s team.

Sideswipe expected nothing less.

The exam door opened-Sideswipe turned his head to greet then newcomer-then bolted upright as rage _ screamed  _ across the bond. 

_ ‘Sunny!’  _

“Get out here Lifeline, we need you!” Was yelled at his nurse. She reacted faster than Sideswipe did-a feat greater than most realized. He later told himself she was just closer to the door.

Close enough to succeed in running through it, with enough spare time to let the other mech slam it shut. Sideswipe heard the locks engage right before he threw himself against it-but it was too late.

He was trapped.

Sideswipe howled his fury, backing up and  throwing himself against it again. Did they think this would hold him!? A frontliner up for the Prime’s very own guard!? 

Not on his life! 

He flung himself again, and again, not that the door budged an inch.  He stopped after his fifth try, vents panting, and tried to think. 

The bond was writhing like a live thing, and he was forced to shut it out to concentrate-but something had happened and the force of his brothers fury put him on an immediate edge.

He didn’t have _ time  _ for this!

xXx

 

The door opened again-clearly, they weren’t locking it. Stupid move on their part-it gave him an escape.

If only he could get to it.

Of course, the door didn’t just open on it’s own. A mech stepped into the doorway, obviously some kind of called reinforcements, and for a moment he feared it would be actual warriors instead of just more medical staff.

The staff he could handle.

Real fighters, not so much.

“You get held up for _ one hour,” _ was muttered angrily, barely loud enough to be heard. More words followed it, unheard over the chaos, but there while it’s owner surveyed the scene. Finally It cut itself off, turned abruptly into a loud bark. “Enough!” 

Sunstreaker ignored it as he ignored all else, fighting against the inhibitor they’d slapped on him. He couldn’t afford to pay attention. Warriors would fight automatically and the best thing to do would be to rid himself of the staff first. He swung wildly with that thought in mind,, moving despite the searing pain, making the group of mechs trying to get a hold of him scatter. 

He knew better than to go anywhere without his weapons, even into an exam. He knew it. Yet he’d let himself get talked out of having them-something he would never allow again. 

“ _ Enough! _ ” The voice  _ bellowed _ this time, loud enough to cut through the chaos. A wrench went flying by, smacking the head medic dead in the face. He whirled-then froze, hands dropping the inhibitor controller and drugs. 

The rest of the staff followed suit, freezing when they spotted who stood in the door. 

A boxy body showing off scratched white plating strode forward, field radiating annoyance. The medics symbols stood out proudly from his shoulders, his Autobrand stamped dead center on his windshield-and even Sunstreaker, half crazed as he was, recognized Ratchet.

The Chief Medical Officer had arrived.

“What in the pits are you all doing!?” He roared, field smacking into them as hard as his wrench had. 

“Careful sir, it’s dangerous!” The head medic-whose name was Inversion, Sunstreaker had finally learned, yelled back. 

It said a lot that he’d never bothered to introduced himself. That Sunstreaker had to learn it when one of his staff had said it. 

Ratchet’s annoyance grew.  “No slag, with all of you fighting like this!  I’m supposed to be examining this mech, not breaking up a brawl!” He strode further into the room, not bothering to shut the door behind him.

Sunstreaker’s optics shot right to it,  used the confusion to calculate the best way to get through to it. 

Inversion swung sideways-keeping an optic of Sunstreaker and his CMO. “He’s a berserker-he snapped during his examination.” He exclaimed, vents wheezing with the effort to expel heat “We _ told  _ Commander Ironhide about the mental problems-” 

It was the wrong thing to say. 

“This is how you stop a frontliner going berserk!?” Ratchet interrupted, narrowing his scowl into something a touch more terrifying. “You summon your  _ entire  _ staff!? Did anyone give you lot any kind of basic safety training!?” He stepped forward, optics snapping right to Sunstreaker.

The golden mech faced him down, still struggling to stand against the electric current trying to lock him in stasis. It took every bit of effort he had, but he managed to step back against the wall, putting himself out of reach from the staff nearest to him and protecting his back.

A part of him, now screaming in rage and anger and _ hurt _ , knew he should stand down. But he didn’t trust them, not after what that medic had done to him, had  _ said. _

These were mechs who’d kill him to save his brother. They’d overlook his battle protocols, his reasons, his own emotions, and blame everything on things out of his control, on legends Sunstreaker swore over and over he didn’t believe. The thought him incapable of control, of morals, and with that in mind, Sunstreaker couldn’t convince himself that submission would save him.

He needed to get out. Get his brother. And go.

Just-go.  

“That frontliner’s not gone berserk.” Ratchet said, finishing a scan Sunstreaker only now realized he had run on him. The CMO’s voice had gone dead quiet, dropped right from a yell and chills ran down backstruts at the tone. 

“He attacked me!” Shrieked Inversion, clearing interrupting the threat in Ratchet’s voice. “He nearly _ killed  _ me!” 

Ratchet’s gaze went right to him, just as fast-he medic jerked as the CMO initiated another scan. It was finished in seconds, Ratchet comparing the results with a thoroughness that few others could accomplish in such a short time period. 

The rest of the staff remained frozen, some casting worried looks at Sunstreaker, concerned that the _ true _ threat in the room wasn’t being addressed, _ at all. _

“Really?” Ratchet drawled. “You’re looking rather well, for a mech attacked by a frontline warrior. I’d expect you to look a lot worse.”

“I reacted quickly.” Was the snapped response. “In doing so I saved my life. He is out for energon and the only reason he’s not caused casualties yet was due to my own, quick thinking!” 

Inversion had spun, putting his back entirely to Sunstreaker in order to yell at Ratchet and if the inhibitor wasn’t actively draining him, Sunstreaker wouldn’t made good on the opportunity it presented. 

As it was, he lunged anyway. 

The damned device spat lighting, another, higher volt coursing through him. The excess crawled along his plating, igniting it and Sunstreaker hissed, attack cut short. He jerked in place instead,   clenching his hands to stop himself from trying to remove the device. He’d tried that once already and lost the use of his right hand.

He couldn’t afford to lose the other.

The noise had forced Ratchet’s attention back to him, the CMO’s optics darkening as they caught sight of the burned plating. Sunstreaker panted, unsure of how much longer he could hold on, his focus dimming from escape to merely surviving. 

“Get out.” Ratchet snarled. 

“But sir-” Sunstreaker didn’t see who said it-someone else, not the idiot head medic.  A few mechs were already moving, edging past Ratchet as they obeyed. 

_ “Now. _ ” He said again, this time his engine kicking in and making his words carry. 

Those that remained, fled, treating Ratchet as carefully as they were Sunstreaker and giving both plenty of space.  Inversion however wasn’t having it. He refused to move, gone back to watching both CMO and the heaving frontliner. He didn’t look like he knew which one was worse-or which one he wanted to face. 

He decided to try for Ratchet. 

“ See reason.” He pleaded, though it sounded more  a command than anything else. “I cannot leave you alone in here. He is a danger to himself,  nevermind you-”- And Ratchet wasn’t having it at all, the ambulance advancing on the other medic in a way that would make any warrior proud. 

“Dangerous enough for an inhibitor?” He said as he came forward, Inversion flinching back automatically at the force of the emotions in his field.  “The kind we use on  _ enemy _ berserkers? The kind that is entirely illegal to use on our own mechs?” Ratchet spotted the controller, sitting innocently on the floor, and had it in hand in seconds, diverting course to retrieve it. Inversion squawked, optics popping wide  as Ratchet disabled it. Sunstreaker staggering as the electricity suddenly left his body. 

“Either get out, Inversion, or I will throw you out.” It was the gentlest tone Ratchet had used since arriving, entirely at odds with his face and field. 

Inversion’s optics paled to near white at the sound of it.

The mech stormed from the room after casting a final glance at Sunstreaker. It was clear he knew he had lost. Knew to bow before Ratchet’s fury.  Had Sunstreaker any more energy he would have made a rude gesture.

He didn’t though. He did hear Inversion slam the door, trapping him with the CMO-a fact that would have launched him right into a fresh bout of panic if he wasn’t so damn tired. 

Ratchet’s field rippled at the noise-but he didn’t react beyond it, or the clear and obvious message that Inversion had just sent by closing that door. By trapping him with a supposed crazed frontliner. He kept his gaze on Sunstreaker, and gentled his body language, losing the squared stance. 

The CMO tossed the inhibitor’s controller on the floor, making a show of stomping on it. Sunstreaker’s vents wheezed, his helm tucking down as he wavered, swaying with the effort to remain upright. 

“You alright kid?” Ratchet asked quietly,  unmoving.\

Sunstreaker didn’t answer him, suddenly able to feel the bond. He was instantly busy trying to reassure Sideswipe that he was okay-or at least, not dead. Not yet. Sideswipe was frantic on the other side of it, but the golden twin was too messed up to do much more than insist he’d survived. 

_ Frag _ that inhibitor had a punch!

“Easy.” Ratchet kept his voice even and calm, as Sunstreaker staggered again. “They had enough energy to short out a convoy going through you. Take it slow.” 

Sunstreaker’s engine gunned in response, trying to keep him up but the fight was leaving him, his protocols powering down in the face of Ratchet. He dimly realized the ambulance had some kind of emitter-something that projected ‘ _ Safe, safe, safe’  _ over and over. Something that calmed-soothed.  __ Almost against his will he found himself relaxing. His balance left him and he caught himself pitching forward, only to over-balance and smack back against the wall instead. He flailed for a moment before sliding down, inbetween the examination table and a countertop, sinking into a strange kind of crouch. 

“Sunstreaker.” Ratchet said, a while after his aft hit the floor, calling the frontliner’s attention back to him. “Where’s Sideswipe?”\

It took him a few times to talk. “‘Cross the hall.” He managed, though most his words were slurred. Apparently it was enough, because Ratchet nodded at him.

The CMO might have told him he was leaving, might have said he was going to get his brother. Sunstreaker didn’t know. His audios rang, his plating jittery in aftershock. He couldn’t say how long he sat on the floor-couldn’t even remember seeing Sideswipe run into the room. 

Just sagged into his twin arms when they suddenly appeared. 

“See if you can get energon down him.” That was Ratchet again. Sunstreaker looked up, finding the CMO standing far away. “Leave the inhibitor on though. I can see from here the plating around it has melted, it’s gonna need special care to get off. The controller is destroyed-you can see it on the floor. With it gone, no one can access the inhibitor-it can’t do any more damage even if it stays on your brother's neck.” 

Sideswipe was saying something, his engine rumbling, but it wasn’t as angry as it should have been. Apparently Ratchet’s codes worked on both of them. Sunstreaker could feel the oddly muted anger come through the bond, the realization that Ratchet was doing something to make it muted. 

“He’s okay to be left alone for the moment. I’ve pinged you my comm, call me when you feel he’s ready to get that taken off. I have to go fetch that fragging moron medic before he runs off and defects.” 

Who? Sunstreaker didn’t know. He’d entirely lost track of the conversation. Sideswipe shushed him when tried to speak, rocking him gently instead. 

“It’s alright, it’s gonna be alright.” His twin whispered.

  
Sunstreaker believed him.


End file.
